


The Fruits of Spring

by tigriswolf



Series: poetry [91]
Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: BAMF Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), F/M, Legends, Persephone Goes Willingly With Hades (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Poetry, Revisionist Fairy Tale, setting the record straight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:28:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26351176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/pseuds/tigriswolf
Summary: they still tell your story wrong
Relationships: Hades/Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Series: poetry [91]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/278262
Comments: 5
Kudos: 75





	The Fruits of Spring

**Author's Note:**

> Title: The Fruits of Spring 
> 
> Begun October 25, 2016  
> Finished September 7, 2020

_They still tell your story wrong.  
  
  
_You were young, sun-kissed and  
dancing, laughing with your girls  
in a field of flowers.  
Oh, yes,  
I suppose that must be true—  
  
  
_It’s what’s told and told and told again.  
  
  
_He came for you in a chariot with  
snorting horses, fire in their eyes,  
sparking from their shoes. You and  
your girls ran, of course you did,  
screaming and crying, begging for  
your mother to save you.  
  
  
_Is that not right?  
  
_  
But he caught you.  
They all escaped to tell your mother  
and he caught you.  
The dark lord of the dead caught you  
to bring Spring into his realm.  
  
  
_Is that not right?  
  
_  
You wept in those dank halls.  
Your wails filled those walls  
as you pined for the sun and the warmth  
and the fields of flowers you danced through.  
  
  
_Tell me—is that not right?  
  
_Your mother strode into your father’s throne room  
demanded your return and when your father  
failed to deliver, she struck down the earth:  
Nothing would grow until you were back in her arms.  
  
  
_Was it not so?  
  
_  
When their worshippers starved, the gods  
turned to your father and it was not your  
mother alone demanding your return.  
But he tricked you, the dark lord of the dead.  
You ate six seeds and so you were saved  
for half of every year. You returned to your mother  
but too you had to return to your ‘husband,’  
the man who stole you from the light.  
  
  
_Is it not so?  
  
_  
You did nothing but cry. A token resistance.  
You refused to eat until hours before  
your father’s messenger arrived.  
You could not escape; did you even try?  
  
_  
This is how they tell the story—  
__Tell me, queen, is it not truth?  
  
  
  
_ (Oh, but it’s not.  
I smiled as I bit into the pomegranate,  
as the dark lord of the dead watched  
with reverence in his eyes.  
I stepped into his chariot  
and waved to my girls goodbye.  
The halls are not dank, nor cold.  
I am the bright Spring, warmth returning,  
and it matters not where I live.  
  
But my mother, my mother  
and my uncles and aunts and cousins,  
sisters and brothers, my father the king—  
Always they saw only a girl, only  
my mother’s darling daughter,  
lovely and delicate and innocent,  
cherished and coddled and so beloved.  
  
I courted him, my husband;  
I sought him and chose him,  
convinced him to play his part.  
I am the gentle resurrection allowing  
life to bloom and blossom and grow,  
he the chill and barrenness of death,  
and ‘trapped’ in his cold realm of darkness,  
I reign as I never could above.)


End file.
